


Looking Up (Alternatively; An End)

by Piedpiper6666



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors, Angst and Feels, Sadstuck, comment if you think I should tag something else, rape tag is for mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3382988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piedpiper6666/pseuds/Piedpiper6666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story that begins with pain and ends in death.</p><p>This is a story of a slave on a pirate captain's ship.</p><p>This is a story of the ending of the Dolorosa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Looking Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeatedHeadwear (EmptyFeet)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=HeatedHeadwear+%28EmptyFeet%29).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the End.

You always look down, now. You suppose you always did with your tall stature, but never like this.

You never used to kneel at everyone’s feet, not having the value to even consider looking them in their eyes.

They always look down, too.

You always used to believe that looking down was cruel, a sign of showing your disdain for another person. Now, you understand how it goes both ways.

You don't really care, though. Not when the chains binding your wrists no longer chafe, when the metal collar cinched tight around your neck holds a comforting weight, when the only face you remember of your son is his furious one, made ugly with guttural screams as the red-hot cuffs binding his hands melt through his wrists with a vicious intent.

The cuffs clink-clank, clink-clank, clink-clank, as you walk forward, head bowed in well-learned submission. The jangling of metal and your light breathing are the only sounds in the dark, dripping hallway. The scents of salt and fish permeate the air, but you are accustomed to the heavy stench. The sheer blackness of your surroundings is broken only by the faint natural light you emit as a rainbow drinker, causing shifting, eerie shadows to dance across the walls. Even as a grown troll they used to terrify you, reminding you of monsters from the past, but no longer.

You don’t see them when you look down. And shadows only hurt you in your dreams.

A door opens, letting in a bright stream of light, sharply artificial in all of its brilliance. You stop walking, having reached your destination. Your feet rock in sync with the rolling of the oceans, the ship you’re on cresting a particularly large wave. Expertly, with a practiced, resigned grace, you fall to one knee.

The light pouring from the open doorway dims and quickly returns to its previous brightness. Footsteps approach, the click-clack of heels echoing down the bleak, metal hallway.

A hand strokes your chin; sharp, cerulean nails graze your skin. You see her long fingers play with the air beneath your lowered face. The fabric of her clothing shifts. You breathe. She hums.

Suddenly, the hand stroking your chin grips tight and lifts your head up. Lips and tongue attack yours. You stifle a quickly growing moan and melt into the kiss.

As suddenly as the onslaught begins, it ends. Your long-standing red fling reaches into a coat pocket and pulls out a shiny, small silver key. Distractedly, she unlocks your cuffs, allowing you to wrap your arms around her neck and kiss her with more enthusiasm.

A time ago, you may have attempted to run. It doesn't matter; she could have simply mind-controlled you into staying, wanting; wanting her. But you don't want to run. At least here, you feel good, feel pleasure.

Here she lets you look up. Into her gorgeous, sparkling cerulean eyes. She grips your arm and leads you away. The door slams behind you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! 38D


	2. Pain and Pity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blame and a loss of will.

You reach out, groping for the shadowed form in front of you. He screams at you, his words cutting like knives. Begging you to save him. Demanding the answer to why you did not, with such accusation in his eyes. He blames you as you scream and sob, running towards his prone figure but never reaching him. His eyes burn as bright as the red-hot shackles sizzling around his wrists- oh god, you can see the _bone_ and his blood, the color you always needed him to hide and he’s telling you what you already know, that it’s your fault, you should have kept him safe and-

Suddenly, a coolness spreads through your brain, a calm, an apathy. You blink open your cinched-shut eyes to see bright green sopor slime pooled in front of you. The tight grip of your hands, claws digging into your palms hard enough to draw blood, slackens with your newfound peace.

A gentle hand strokes your cheek, a concerned glance pointed in your direction. Soothing murmurs fill your ears as she strokes, whispering meaningless platitudes and soft words. A small sigh escapes your lips at the calming touch.

After a time, the Marquise stops. A small smile appears on your face; you think it’s sad, but you don't remember why. All you know is the feeling welling up in your chest, stifling your breath. The all-encompassing pity and love for this beautiful woman; god you just love her so much.

You're kissing her and you don’t remember leaning in but it doesn't matter when her cool lips taste so good. You try to deepen the kiss because you just love her _so much_ but she pushes gently at your shoulders and you are altogether confused. Suddenly, you don’t understand _anything_.

She just, sort of, shakes her head. Fondly, in a way. Little words pass between the two of you, like you're just matesprits in love and not her willing slave. She gives you back all the fear and anger and bitterness and blame she took out of your head to stop your screams. She’s kind like that, you suppose, giving you back your mind. It’s only now that you realize she must have mind-controlled you at the beginning of the evening, but that’s really the only way she knows to take away your pain. She doesn't pity you enough to end your suffering, or your slavery, and you almost don't want her to. You deserve this punishment, not for your crimes against the empire, but for your crimes against _him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! As before, comments and kudos are always appreciated! 38D


	3. Time Passes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contemplation, memories, and forgiveness.

Time passes, and as you tug the sharp needle through cloth for the umpteenth time, you let out a sigh, the rustling of fabric remaining the only sound in the tiny room. The rotting wooden box you sit on, one leg crossed over the other in instinctual modesty, suffices as a chair for this menial task you’re completing. You've never needed lamps for this chore on her ship, using your natural lighting instead of wasting precious supplies of candles. This sewing, mending, is your only peace: the gift of monotony.

You were probably ashamed, once, of using your light for something as trivial as this. It was a sense of pride for you; though you cast your lot in the gamble of rebellion, you could still have your pride.

You don't even remember how to feel pride anymore. You see it, on Mindfang’s face after a good raid, on Dualscar’s after he finds a way to reach his kismesis’s weak points for once. But you? What reason would you have for pride? Your pride has been seeped out of you through near-constant humiliation until Mindfang took pity and made you her matesprit. You are still her slave, though. Neither of you ever forget it.

And so, in your musings, you almost don’t notice the faint crackle of the air around you, almost don't notice the light of your surroundings grow brighter, but you do.

He appears from the air as the space around him ripples like water in a still pond, like blood. He steps silently forward, walking on the pulsating redness surrounding him. You stop sewing, and look down into your lap.

“Rosa.” He says it like he’s consoling a child. In some ways, you suppose, he is.

“H-Hello.” You voice cracks from the strain of speech. When’s the last time you’ve spoken? When’s the last time you used your voice for words instead of moans and whimpers and breathy sighs?

“Please Rosa.” He falls gently to one knee in front of you, and takes one of your tired hands into his own. You brush your thumb over his rough, callused palms, and sigh. Your gaze snakes its way up his arm, shying away from his wrists (you can’t see the bone but you remember in your dreams and it terrifies you) and reaches his eyes.

Sad, blank white eyes stare back into your tired jade ones. Tears fill your eyes unbidden, because he’s _dead_ you watched him die in front of your eyes and he can’t be _here._

But when his arms wrap around your limp form and squeeze and you feel his love (but not his warmth) you realize it’s as real as it will ever be. You're sobbing now, in between coughing and sniffling, as your now ugly face, ugly with crying, falls into the space between his neck and shoulder.

You _let go_. You let go of all the pain you feel, the humiliation you’ve endured, even the questionable origin of your relationship with Mindfang. You finally see him as a boy again, smiling and full of joy and hope for the world, and it _breaks_ you, breaks you again. You were broken before but you never got put together quite right, no, parts of you were jagged and parts of you were missing. But now the clumsy stitches are ripped up and torn apart, so that you may be resewn again.

His arms briefly tighten around you, one final demonstration of comfort, before he lets go. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and blink sadly in his direction as he blinks sadly in yours. It is strange to see a lack of the red inside of his eyes; the color always hidden inside his eyes and veins now glows around him in a dim cloud. You don’t know if it’s acceptance or cruel fate.

Something instinctual inside gives off a feral warning, because you’re looking _up_ , looking into someone's eyes, you’re doing something wrong, and you feel your face flinch and twitch. But he would never hurt you, and so you ignore these animalistic and yet learned instincts in favor of looking into the face of your son, the son you thought you’d never see again.

 “I hate to say this Rosa, but I can’t wait for you to finally come and be here with me,” he jokes, forcing the humor into his confusing words. “It’s lonely here without anybody else. If I have to wander endless deserts, I’d love to do it with you.”

 You hum in acknowledgment of his words, and count the beats in the pauses between speaking. In, out; one, two. Your chest raises and lowers (in contrast to his, you notice, like he isn't breathing) but you have no need to fill the silence.

He seems to realize this, and shifts from his knees to sit on the ground, legs crossed in the “criss-cross grubsauce” way he always sat as a child. It’s strangely comforting.

 You reach for his hair and just, sort of, brush your hand through it, once or twice. The feeling of his gentle curls through your fingers brings forth snapshots and memories, and you are content.

So is he, if his childish purrs mean anything. His bright eyes closed and red glow dimmed, he looks like the child you raised once again. And this time, when you choose breathy sighs over words, it is not because of fear. It is because, in this temporary space, you can feel nothing but peace. You do not want to break the silence with heavy words. And he gives you that blessing.

You close your eyes in this space, and pretend that you are fine. You pretend that you are not a slave. You pretend that you do not let your owner rape you (and that it’s not your greatest pleasure now.) You pretend that you have pride, and hope, and love. You pretend that you did not watch as your son screamed and sobbed and burned, and that he is alive and a child and the sun shines warmly on your back again and you don't smell the salt of the sea and-

   

 you open your eyes, and he is gone. You wish you could cry, but it seems as if you only do in the worst of times, and cannot when no one would know, when you hurt the most.

         

 You sew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait! I got lazy :P As before, comments and kudos are always appreciated! 38D


	4. Stormy Seas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A great change and a great realization.

The seadweller starts coming more often. You see him during your brief opportunities to be above deck, when you mop or clean while the stars shine overhead. Mindfang won’t allow you to be out in the day; she fears what you could do while she sleeps, and she prefers to sleep next to you. But on the calm, clear nights when you can finally feel the wind in your hair, you see him.

His cape bellows behind him in the chill of the sea breeze, his collar splayed behind his neck giving him a larger, more intimidating appearance.

All you can see is the vanity in his clothing, the pride in his movements, the cruelty in the tilt of his chin. There is no doubt that his eyes burn like fire and freeze like ice, no doubt that they hold no mercy.

But you’ve never looked into his eyes. Doing so would bring nothing but pain.

He is titled Dualscar, for the sharp lines stretching across his face. Mindfang mocks him for them; you expect there is a story behind how he received his scars, but don’t dare to even think it.

Of course, not daring to think it means you immediately think nothing but when he arrives on Mindfang’s ship. You think Mindfang knows. Once, while pondering one of your more outlandish (and yet pathetic) theories, a meowbeast’s claws can do quite a lot of damage, you know, a sharp laugh escaped her mouth while “helping” him onto the deck of her ship. He looked at her curiously, and she said nothing but looked rather pointedly at you. If he had been anything but her kidmesis it would have cost you dearly, but it was never mentioned once.

You clean the deck of the ship with a wet mop on a dim night like any other when Mindfang races from the wheel down to where you are standing. She is ruffled, but in her manic way when a smirk shines on her face and her eyes hold a mischievous glint. This glint shines bright as she approaches you. You gaze at her feet and submit to her wishes, unknown as they are. And so when he deck of Orphaner Dualscar’s ship anchors to a halt near your equally halted ship, you are altogether confused when your wrist is dragged along towards it. A noise of defiance and confusion escapes you, but your arm is tugged harder and you are pulled to the edge of the ship.

A plank slams down onto the side of Mindfang’s ship, and you jump. Mindfang tightens her grip on your arm with glee.

He stalks across the plank like a storm cloud ready to burst. He looks furious from the length and speed of his stride. You don’t dare to look above the plank by his feet.

“Marquise,” he growls.

“Dualscar,” she retorts, forgoing the courtesy of addressing him by his official title, Orphaner. She is in a mood today.

“WWhat do you wwant, Mindfang. You knoww wwell how incredibly _busy_ I am,” he purrs menacingly.

With this, you realize that it is Mindfang’s ship that met his in the seas, which is a rare occasion in itself. For her eyes to be shining with mischief and hatred is much rarer in their kismesitude.

“Have you met by slave, the Dolorosa?” You don’t completely understand, why on Alternia would she mention you?

“An interestin title for one so……. pure,” Dualscar leers at you, and sweat breaks out on your dimly shining face. The deck looks _quite interesting_ tonight, you think.

“I might havve seen her before. WWhy?” He addresses Mindfang again, and you are made much more comfortable.

“Aaaaaaaah, well, you see, her and I are _quite_ flushed for each other, you know.”

 

Oh Dear God.

 

“Oh.” he questions, although it sounds like more of an accusation than a question. His gaze turns back to the tips of your horns, head still bowed in submission. You can almost feel the heat of his gaze melt your horns away. What is Mindfang doing?

“Mmmmmmmm. And isn’t she just a pretty little thing?” She strokes her hand through your hair. You wish you could tell her to stop.

“Vvery,” he grinds out. His low growl chills you to your bones.

“And such a good fuck! So responsive, _mmmmmmmm_ ,” Mindfang moans and you blush in shame. You thought- you mean, well, you-

You thought she cared.

You don’t know why.

“Howw….. interestin.” He glares at you and you feel it through your skin. You can feel the platonic hatred radiating off of him.

 _Jealousy_. He’s _flushed_ for her. She’s using jealousy in her kismesitude-

She’s using you for her kismesitude.

Oh.

“Weeeeeeeell, come on then~” She tugs your arm and you stumble after her.

“Um. Mistress, where-“

“My bedroom- sorry, respiteblock, silly jadeblood.” She looks into your eyes with a menacing glint, and you are afraid.

“We’re going to show Dualscar just how good you can be.” She tells you. Suddenly, you hate her so platonically you don’t know what to do with yourself.

She notices. Her smirk falls and a hand rests on your face. Her nails point sharp against your skin and you shudder, wanting to recoil.

With that, you understand.

You really don’t have a choice.

“And if he _doesn’t_ want to see, of course,” she says, smirk returning to her face as if nothing had happened, “He will have a rather _difficult_ time ever boarding my ship again.”

He growls, black hatred competing with flushed jealousy in his voice. He briskly strides over to the two of you, and Mindfang cackles, miming a whip in his direction.

“And _no touching_ ,” she adds, which really just adds insult to injury.

The three of you head to Mindfang’s respiteblock, and you prepare for the worst.


	5. Looking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just found my paper draft of this story in my desk drawer... never typed it up. its been a while. probably no one cared, but i felt bad so heres the ending. im not into homestuck enough to write any more fics but shout at me if u wanna talk about characters or something.
> 
> ill be uploading my new yuri on ice fic soon for those of you who like Pain and also Suffering and also Thinly-Veiled-Self-Insert-Personalities-On-Your-Goshdarned-Main-Characters.
> 
> i have a thing for writing about death.
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated, even if you hated my story tell me why
> 
> enjoy

* * *

 

After that. he hates you.

He probably already hated you because of your landdwelling status, but now he wants you dead. He wants to torture you and crush you and watch your blood spill.

The worst part?

Mindfang doesn't care.

It's a strange sensation warring inside of you; the part that still believes she would jump to your rescue, that she is flushed for you and that she is your matesprit battles with the part that knows she never would, and never will. It hurts, and you are broken all over again. Only this time, there is no _hallucination_ of your son to heal this break. (You have lost too much hope to believe he was real anymore, if you ever even did.)

She has you out on the deck more often, too. You suspect it is so that whenever Dualscar comes, he can see you. A backwards way of "fixing" their kismessitude, using his flushed jealousy to rekindle black hatred. A strange ploy, but a surprisingly effective one. The hatred he points towards her is much more potent after the.... incident.

You are mopping the deck when he arrives. Mindfang saunters her way towards hum with her tell-tale smirk dancing across her features, but he heads straight for you with murder in his stance. You still, if not even more so, don't dare to look in his eyes. The smirk falls off of Mindfang's face as she watches the proceedings.

Dualscar reaches you as you continue to mop like nothing is happening. He swiftly pins your arms against the side of the ship with his iron-like grip, his harpoon dangling menacingly from his weapons' belt. A sharp gasp escapes you, and you shut your eyes tight and tilt your head down. 

His salty breath assaults your senses, his face in front of yours in an attempt to be cruelly sensual as he whispers insults, degrading you with each word. Mindfang yells a protest, clearly irritated with his actions, but he pays no heed. You wish he would stop. You wish you could make him stop.

You wish Mindfang was more than irritated.

And so, when his face pulls away and you deem it safe to breathe, you are shocked at the firm slap his palm delivers to your face, metal rings scraping and leaving stinging flesh behind. You open your eyes wide in shock and disgrace, and stare him straight in the eyes, daring him with your furious glare.

His eyes are the ocean and the sea, a cresting wave and the deepness of blue, of violet. They are deep, pools of grief and pain swimming and intermingling within, near as deep as your own. And in the end, when his growls turn to snarls and his harpoon becomes stained with jade, when your limp body sways and toppless of her ship, when you sink and sink and sink so far down until the waters would have killed you anyway, it's because you're doing one thing.

You're looking up.

 


End file.
